


Tribbles Really Are Trouble

by AboutBatman (MistyDawn)



Series: Superbat Week 2020 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Star Trek: The Original Series, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is Spock, Clark is Captian Kirk, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, Magic, Superbat Week 2020, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyDawn/pseuds/AboutBatman
Summary: Captain Kent sat in one of the chairs, setting up the chessboard for play. “Come in, come in!” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Take a seat.”Bruce did as instructed. Clark finished setting up the board and then moved a white pawn. “The tribbles are becoming a real problem. I was on the bridge earlier and they were everywhere. There was even one in my command chair.”Bruce raised an eyebrow and silently moved his own pawn.“I didn’t see it before I sat down.” Clark looked slightly guilty. “It didn’t make it.”Captain Kent and Commander Wayne must work together to solve the tribble problem that threatens to derail their mission.Superbat week 2020: Day 4- Magic
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Superbat Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851754
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	Tribbles Really Are Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my amazing betas [Gement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gement/pseuds/Gement) and [Izzy!](https://i-lovealottbh.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Based on Star Trek: The original Series-S2Ep15 "The Trouble with Tribbles." Some of the scenes and characters from the tribble episode have been directly adapted for this fic while others have been made up. I would definitely recommend you go and watch the episode after reading this because it's a hilariously entertaining example of 60's TV.
> 
> In case you have never seen Star Trek, allow me to explain somethings that will help with understanding the story:
> 
>  **The Federation:** A group of planets (including Earth) and alien cultures which have formed an alliance. Their main goal is exploration of the universe and they created a fleet of spaceships to do so. The fleet is called Starfleet, they explore as well as carry out various missions within Federation space to help colonies, space stations, and planets. The original TV show Star Trek:TOS is set on the Starship Enterprise and is captained by James T Kirk with Commander Spock (a half-vulcan) as the first officer.
> 
>  **Vulcans:** An alien race from planet Vulcan. They are one of the founding members of the Federation. They have pointy ears and green blood. They are notable because they actively suppress their emotions as they think emotion is illogical. 
> 
> **Klingons:** An alien race that is not part of the Federation. They are part of the Klingon empire and oppose the federation aka there is high tensions between both sides. 
> 
> For the day four prompt: Magic

Captain Kent sat in his command chair on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. They were nearing the border of Federation space, a quadrant that had been the subject of various skirmishes between Starfleet and the Klingon Empire. “How close are we to the nearest Klingon outpost?”

“If we continue on our present course, we will come within one parsec, sir,” Ensign Chekov, the ship's navigator, chirped from his station. “Close enough to smell them,” he added.

Mr Wayne, the first officer and Clark’s right hand man, spun around in his chair. “That would be illogical, Ensign. odours cannot travel through the vacuum of space.”

Chekov twisted his head to look at the higher-ranking officer. “I was making a little joke, sir.”

The half-Vulcan raised a dark eyebrow. “Apparently very little.”

Lieutenant Uhura interrupted their banter. “Captain!” She spun to look at Clark. “I am detecting a subspace distress signal. Priority one, coming from space station K-7 up ahead.”

“Priority one? That implies imminent disaster,” Mr Wayne said.

Captain Kent sat up straighter. “Warp factor five.” He pressed a button on the control panel of his chair that activated the ship-wide intercom and announced, “Red alert. Man your battle stations. We have received a priority one distress call from a Federation space station, and as such, can only assume that the Klingons have attacked. We’re going in armed for battle.”

“Main phasers primed and active sir,” Chekov announced.

The ship slid out of warp and the space station came into view on the main monitor screen. Clark got out of his chair and walked towards the viewscreen for a better look. “It looks fine to me. There’s no obvious signs of damage.”

Bruce fiddled with various buttons and peered at the screen at his station. “Sensors indicate a lack of Klingon warships, sir.”

The two men shared a confused glance before Uhura spoke. “I’m also not detecting any Klingon transmissions over the subspace channels.”

“Contact the station.”

“Channel open, sir.”

“Space station K-7, this is Captain Kent of the starship Enterprise. What is your emergency?”

“Captain, this is Nilz Baris. Please accept my invitation to come aboard the space station.”

“Mr Baris, you activated a priority one distress call. What is its nature?”

“Ah, yes. I apologise. I cannot discuss the reasoning for it over an open communication line. I think it's best you beam over.”

* * *

Nilz Baris turned out to be a tall thin man with a constantly sour expression on his face. “Welcome to K-7, gentlemen. May I offer you a drink?”

Clark nodded. Bruce waved him off.

“This is my assistant, Mr Darvin.” Baris gestured to a small man with beady, weasel-like eyes. “Darvin, please get the good captain a drink.”

Darvin scurried over to the drinks cabinet on the other side of the room. Mr Baris’s office was large but barren. There was a desk, which he sat at, a few chairs, and the drinks cabinet, but not much else in the way of personal touch. Neither Clark nor Mr Wayne bothered to sit.

Darvin came over and handed them their drinks. Clark took one sip before setting it on the desk. “Do you want to tell me why you felt the need to trigger a priority one distress call?”

“Ah, yes. It’s quite a sensitive matter. Do you know much about this region of space?”

Bruce interposed, “Various incidents between Starfleet and the Klingons. The last of which, the Battle of Donatu-5, was twenty-three solar years ago.” He looked to his Captain, an expression of earnest enjoyment on his face. “Its results were inconclusive and eventually the Organian treaty was formed to stop the fighting.”

Kent smiled to himself. Bruce always did like any situation where he could show off his extensive knowledge.

Mr Baris smiled. It looked out of place on his face. “Yes! The Organian treaty is why we must hurry. As well as it being a peace treaty, it states that any resources will be given to the side that may cultivate them most efficiently. The only uninhabited planet nearby is Sherman’s Planet. Both sides have laid claim, but it is imperative to the Federation that we get it for defensive purposes.”

“I still don’t see what prompted the distress call.”

“I have single-handedly orchestrated a development plan for the planet that is sure to allow the federation to finally colonise it,” Baris boasted proudly. “It includes a highly specialised quadrotriticale grain which will allow our colonies to flourish.”

The captain shook his head in bewilderment. “And?”

Mr Wayne stepped forward. “Captain I believe Mr Baris triggered the distress call for the express reason to get us here.” He gave Baris a disapproving look. “I believe he intends us to guard the grain while it is transported to Sherman’s Planet.”

Mr Baris sat back in his chair, impressed. “Quite the perceptive first officer you have there, Captain.”

“You put an entire quadrant under priority one for the sake of guard duty? On whose authority?”

Mr Darvin shot up from the chair in the corner of the room. Clark nearly startled; he’d forgotten the small man was there. “Mr Baris is the Federation Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs for this quadrant!” he said almost aghast.

Bruce, who was standing just behind Clark's shoulder, said quietly, “That gives him the authority.”

“Oh.”

Mr Baris stood smugly and crossed his arms behind his back. “Captain, I want all available security guards posted around the storage compartments.”

Clark could feel his patience wearing thin. “You faked a priority one distress call for the sake of some wheat.”

Darvin narrowed his eyes. “It is _not_ wheat. Its name is quadrotriticale and it is—”

“A high yield grain that is a four lobed hybrid of wheat and rye. Its genealogy can be traced back to 20th century Canada,” Mr Wayne interjected. The two men stared at each other until Darvin broke and looked away from the Vulcan's heated gaze. Bruce then trained his glare on Baris. “Misuse of a priority one channel is a Federation offence.”

“I did not misuse—”

Bruce interrupted him. “However, as the development of Sherman’s planet is important to the Federation, perhaps some guards should be posed.” Clark got the vague feeling that Bruce enjoyed antagonising the other man.

He nodded, trusting his first officer’s judgement, and took out his communicator. “Captain Kent to Enterprise.”

“Enterprise here.” Uhara’s voice rang out over the speaker.

“Have some of the security team sent down to K-7.” He thought for a moment. “Oh and allow all off-duty personnel shore leave.”

“Affirmative, Captain.”

“Kent out.” He flicked the golden casing of the communicator down and turned to the other men. “We should really be on our way now.”

Baris looked livid. “Not even a whole security team? I want more!”

Clark just wanted off this station. There was something off about this entire situation, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Mr Darvin spoke up from where he was looking at a data pad. “Sir, sensors have detected a Klingon battlecruiser approaching the station. They are requesting permission to beam personnel aboard.”

“Absolutely not. They are Klingon agents, looking to sabotage my grain!”

“Doesn’t the Organian treaty prevent you from denying them access?” Bruce enquired.

Captain Kent took control. “Allow their captain aboard.”

Two transporter energy beams lit up the room, and then two Klingons appeared. The leader, Captain Koloth, sneered at Clark as soon as he saw him. “Ah, my dear Captain Kent. I assure you my visit is peaceful.”

Clark and Bruce shared a sceptical look.

“As I already informed Mr Darvin, the purpose for my presence here is to secure shore leave for my crew.”

“Shore leave?” asked Clark suspiciously.

“We Klingons are not as luxury minded as you _humans_. Our ships are not equipped with non-essentials.” He said it blandly, but Clark could hear the insult.

The second Klingon, who must have been their first officer, spoke harshly. “We have been in space for six months. It’s none of your business what we choose for recreation.”

Koloth smiled with a predatory grin. “May I also remind you that under the terms of the Organian treaty you cannot refuse us access.”

Kent smiled back with as much hostility as he could muster without causing an incident. “Yes, true. But you will have to ask Mr Baris here. He’s the one with the authority to make those types of decisions.”

Mr Baris’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. He was clearly stuck between a rock and a hard place. “Yes… I suppose…”

Clark took pity on him. “You may come aboard. But only twelve at a time, and I promise there will be two of my men for every one of yours. I won’t tolerate any trouble one this station. Understood?”

Captain Koloth laughed. “Perfectly, _Kent_. Perfectly.”

* * *

The captain and the first officer walked side-by-side down a wide corridor on the Enterprise.

“You know you are entitled to shore leave, Mr Wayne. I believe some time off would do you good.”

Mr Wayne raised a straight eyebrow. “Yes, I am aware of my entitlement, but as Space Station K-7 offers me nothing of interest, I see no logic in wasting time which could be spent working on the ship.”

Captain Kent looked at him with mirth in his eyes. “Somehow I knew you would say that, Commander. Still, I insist you take time off. As per Starfleet regulation, of course.”

“Sir, I see no need to go on shore leave when we have the pressing danger of the Klingons.”

“Yes… They do pose a problem. However, should they seek to cause harm, they will be directly violating the Organian treaty.”

“Yes. However, in all likelihood, the Klingons will disregard the treaty for their own gain. I have calculated that there is a 71.8% chance that the treaty will be broken during the Klingon shore leave.”

They came to the sliding doors of the Enterprise’s mess hall. The captain looked to his companion and smiled. “Mr Baris contacted me earlier about the matter and I assured him that we have guards around both his grain and the Klingons. If or _when_ they break the treaty, we will be there to catch them red-handed.”

As one, they stepped through the doors to find a huddle of crew members around a table. Soothing trills sounded from the balls of fluff that covered the entire table surface. Clark and Bruce looked at each other in puzzlement before moving closer to join the ring of people that happily petted the strange creatures. “Are you running a nursery, Lieutenant Uhura?” Clark asked.

She looked up from where she had three of the creatures cradled in her arms. “Well I hadn’t intended to, sir, but the tribble had other plans.” She chuckled.

“Did you get this at the space station?”

“Yes. I bought it from one of the vendors, sir. He was a lovely man named Cyrano Jones.”

Bruce leaned over Uhura to pick up a small white ball of fluff. “Its trilling seems to have a tranquilizing effect on the human nervous system.” He began petting the creature to its delighted trills. “Of course I am immune to its effects,” he trailed off softly.

The crew all twisted in their chairs to look at him as he continued his petting. Clark grinned. “You sure about that?”

* * *

Commander Wayne made his way down the brightly lit corridor with long strides. He was on his way to the Captain’s quarters. Every night they would meet and play a game of chess while they went over the day’s events. He enjoyed time with his captain, just the two of them, with no immediate worries or duties to attend to.

He came to a large set of golden doors that whooshed open at his approach. The Captain’s living quarters were large but snug; various ornaments from their adventures decorated the shelves, and stylish furniture was arranged around the main room. This included two comfortable chairs situated around a chessboard beside a long window which displayed a black sky of twinkling stars.

Captain Kent sat in one of the chairs, setting up the chessboard for play. “Come in, come in!” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Take a seat.”

Bruce did as instructed. Clark finished setting up the board and then moved a white pawn. “The tribbles are becoming a real problem. I was on the bridge earlier and they were everywhere. There was even one in my command chair.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and silently moved his own pawn.

“I didn’t see it before I sat down.” Clark looked slightly guilty. “It didn’t make it.”

The Captain moved another chess piece and Bruce followed. “Yes, I have observed that they are multiplying at an exponential rate. We must find a solution to their rate of reproduction before the Enterprise’s food supplies become depleted.”

Clark moves his knight past the first row of pawns. “I was talking to Bones earlier. He said 50% of their biology is geared towards reproduction. Apparently, the poor things are born pregnant.”

Bruce moved his bishop so that it would hinder the knights forward progression. “Truly fascinating. Their biology does interest me, especially the seemingly asexual form of reproduction which they exhibit.”

Kent stood and walked over to a side table on which was a long-necked crystal decanter holding a golden liquid. He poured out two glasses and turned to find Bruce standing in front of him.

“Captain, may I suggest we find a solution soon? At the very least, the vendor Lieutenant Uhura purchased the original tribble from should be apprehended for the sale of an organic lifeform that has been proven to endanger human life.”

“Hmm, that still doesn’t solve our tribble troubles.” He took a swing from his own glass. “Drink?” Clark held out the other tumbler. Bruce moved forward, taking the offered glass and taking a sip before setting it down on the table. He continued to move forward into the captain’s personal space before stopping. The two stared at each other for a moment, then Bruce’s eyes flicked to the glass that Clark still held in between them. He got the hint and set it down roughly on the table, not wanting to look away from the man before him.

Their lips met in a chaste kiss before the captain pulled back to look into the too-familiar blue eyes of his partner. They seemed to sparkle in the low light, so alive compared to the stony face of the Vulcan. “Do you… do you ever feel like you are having deja vu?”

The face remained impassive. “I am familiar with the definition of the word. But I am not sure what you are referring to, Captain.”

“The feeling that we’ve been here before.” He raised a hand to trail down a sharp cheekbone. “That we’ve done this before?”

“I have an eidetic memory, Clark.” He wrapped his arms more firmly around the other. “I remember… _all_ our moments together.”

Clark grinned; his earlier feelings of uneasiness forgotten. “Hmm, maybe we should add more to that memory of yours then, Mr Wayne.” He leaned forward and pressed their lips together for a second time.

The Vulcan moved into the kiss, his tongue sweeping into his captain’s mouth and hips pressing forward. Clark moved his hand to the other's ass and backed him against the wall. There was a greenish blush smattered across Bruce’s cheekbones and it reached right up to the pointy tips of his ears. “Captain.” He moaned as Clark moved his other hand to unzip the front of his trousers.

Clark couldn’t resist kissing him again, pouring all his love and admiration into the passionate tangle of their tongues.

Chekov’s tinny voice rang out over the intercom. “Captain Kent. There has been an incident between Starfleet personnel and the Klingons on Space station K-7.”

Clark sighed and leaned his forehead against Bruce’s. “Rain check?”

* * *

“You know that because of this, I have no choice but to cancel shore leave for the entire ship?” The captain stood in front of a row of crewmen in various states of bruising. “Right. Out with it. Who started the fight with the Klingons?”

None of the crewmembers moved. In fact some of them even diverted their eyes downward, like teenagers attempting to avoid the teacher calling on them. Clark walked up to a lieutenant with a particularly large bruise on his cheek. “Freeman, who started the fight?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. Hmm, this might be harder than he thought. He walked up the line and stopped at Chekov. The small man also had a nasty bruise on his face and stared at his boots rather than look at the Captain. “Was it you who started the fight?” _Gotcha,_ Clark thought. Chekov could never lie to him.

The navigator spoke steadily with a Russian lilt, “No sir. It was not me.”

Huh.

“Right, that’s it. You are all confined to your quarters until I can find out who threw the first punch. Dismissed.”

They started to file out, but Clark stopped his chief engineer from leaving. “You were supposed to prevent trouble, Scotty.”

The Scottish man had the foresight to look guilty. “Aye, Captain.”

“Who started the fight?”

“Uh…well. You see, it might have been me.”

Captain Kent sighed. “You threw the first punch, Mr Scott?”

“I did, sir.”

Clark waited a moment, expecting Scotty to elaborate but the other man was silent. “Why, then?”

“Oh, well, they insulted us sir,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Must have been some insult to start a scuffle with a species we have just recently signed a peace treaty with.”

“Aye, it definitely was, sir. I had to hold Chekov back.”

“You had to hold—” Clark cut himself off, incredulous. “Why did Chekov try and start the fight then?”

“Well…uh… the Klingons called you a tin-plated, overbearing, swaggering dictator with delusions of godhood.” Scotty paused for a breath. “And then they called—"

“Okay, I think I’ve got it. So then you started the fight?”

“Oh no, sir.”

“What?”

“Well you told me to keep the peace.”

“What made you jump in if you were the one trying to stop the fight?”

“They called the Enterprise a garbage scow!” Scotty looked almost pained to say it aboard his ship. “Can ye believe it, sir!”

Clark could feel the phantom headache forming between his eyes. “So that’s when you decided to hit the Klingon.”

Scotty puffed up his chest in pride. “Yes, sir. I couldn’t have talk like that about my beauty.” He leaned forward slightly, sincerity in his eyes, and said, “It was a matter of integrity.”

* * *

“There is something disquieting about these creatures.”

A cheeky grin spread about Kent’s face. “Oh, you got a feeling?”

“Don’t be insulting, Captain”, Mr Wayne chided. “They remind me of the lilies of the field. ‘They toil not, neither do they spin’. Yet they eat a great deal, like a pestilence across the ship. I see no practical use for them.”

“Does everything need to have a practical use?” Clark picked up one of the purring balls of fluff and started petting it. “They are nice, soft, furry, and they make a pleasant sound.”

“So does an ermine violin, but I see no advantage in having one."

“It’s a human characteristic to like cute things.” Clark bumped his elbow to Bruce’s playfully.

The half-Vulcan pursed his lips, but Clark could see the amusement in his eyes as he spoke. “I have trained myself to withstand practically anything.”

The two men came to the transport room and stepped up onto the transporter pad. Nearly the entire surface was covered in tribbles. Even the transporter operator was standing with one in his arms. Captain Kent turned to his first officer. “I may see your point Mr Wayne.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow along with a slight smirk. He squared his shoulders and looked to the transporter operator. “Energise.”

Beams of light mixed with the fuzzy feeling of their atoms first deconstructing, and then reconstructing later. Both men arrived in the office of the Federation Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs in Space Station K-7. Nilz Baris stormed in, immediately followed by his assistant Mr Darvin.

“Captain Kent, I consider your security measures a disgrace!” Mr Baris spat with a shrill voice. “The quadrotriticale grain is guarded by minimal security, while you have given access of this station to a man that is very likely a Klingon agent. Rest assured, _Captain,_ I fully intend to report your handling of this affair to the proper authorities.”

Bruce bristled and Clark spared him a calming look before turning to Mr Baris and replying, “That is a very serious charge. To whom do you refer?”

“Cyrano Jones. He is the enemy agent.”

Clarks eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Cryrano Jones? The tribble merchant?” An enemy to crewmembers’ purses, sure, but the jolly swindler working for the Klingons was unlikely.

“You heard me!” Mr Baris said defensively.

Mr Wayne stepped forward. “He heard you. He simply could not believe his ears.”

The captain turned back to the Federation officials. Clearly the snark had gone over their heads, or he was sure they would have kicked up a fuss about it. “What evidence do you have against Mr Jones?”

“My associate,” Baris gestured to Mr Darvin, “has followed Cyrano Jones's activities for quite some time and has concluded that his recent actions have been most suspicious. I believe he was involved in the altercation between the Klingons and your crew.”

“Yes, yes. Go on. What else do you have.” Clark was getting inpatient.

Darvin, stepped forward. Bruce got a distasteful feeling from the look of the man. When he spoke, it was smug. “Well, Captain I checked his ship's log and found that four months ago, he was within Klingon territory—”

Mr Baris cut him off. “The man is a spy!” he shouted with vigour.

The captain turned to Bruce and gave him the signal to talk.

“We have already run a background check on the man in question and found him to be unnoteworthy and unlikely to be an agent of the Klingons. He is a licenced asteroid locator and prospector and has not broken the law…severely.”

Captain Kent raised a placating hand to the two gentlemen. “For the past seven years he has sold rare merchandise, including, unfortunately for us, tribbles. However, his record is relatively clean.”

Mr Baris stomped his foot and exclaimed, “The man is after my grain!”

“Have you any actual proof?”

“You can’t deny he’s disrupted this station!” Darvin shouted. His confidence seemed to have been shaken, and he was pressed so close to Mr Baris’s side he was like a leech.

Clark replied, “People have disrupted space stations before without being Klingon agents. Sometimes they only need a title, Mr Baris.”

Mr Baris gritted his teeth.

Bruce chimed in, “Disrupting the activity of a space station is not grounds for a chargeable offence. Cyrano Jones will remain undetained for the time being.”

Clark clapped his hands together. “Now if you excuse me, gentlemen, we really should—”

The doors whooshed open and a station worker entered. “Pardon the interruption, but there is a transmission waiting for Captain Kent on dataline eight.”

“Thank you. You may leave,” Clark said. Then he went to the desk at the back of the room and activated the computer on line eight. “Captain Kent to Enterprise, do you read me?”

“Captain!” Scotty’s staticky voice rang out from the speakers. “We’ve been having some trouble with the tribbles sir.”

This day could get no worse. “What kind of trouble?”

“They have somehow gotten into the machinery. They are in everything from the engines to the replicators. They even got into the communicator controls, hence why I’m having to call you like this.”

“How could this have happened?!”

“Well, the best guess would have to be the air vents. Which brings us to the second problem; the K-7 station has the same type of air vents, sir.”

Clark ran his hand through his blond hair. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?”

The staticky voice sounded apologetic, “Aye, Captain. You best check on that grain.”

“Kent out.” He flicked off the computer and stood, then walked back to the group.

Commander Wayne tilted his head at the pinched expression on his Captain’s face. “Tribbles, I presume?”

Clark could only nod. “Damn tribbles.”

* * *

They came to the massive storage compartment of the station. It was a long corridor with various chutes and sliding doors which opened up into the grain silos. “What’s wrong?” Mr Baris asked as they walked.

“Plenty is wrong if what I think has happened, has happened.” Clark replied.

Bruce settled beside Captain Kent as they walked to the guard posted in front of one of the doors. “Is that door secure?”

“Yes, sir. Nothing could get in.”

Bruce shared a worried glance with Clark. “Good. Open it.”

The guard seemed to struggle with the door for a moment. “Sir, I can’t. It seems to be stuck.”

“Here. Let me try.” Kent stepped forward and attached the magnetic unlocking device to the secondary door that was slanted slightly above him. The magnetic key clicked and the door suddenly shot open.

A wave of tribbles erupted downward like a rogue waterfall of fluff and squeaking. Bruce smiled at the sight, then realised what he was doing and shook the elated feeling off. Where had that feeling come from? It had been so real. The sight of his captain among the balls of fluff had elicited such a strong response from him. It was odd. Usually his Vulcan heritage was able to dampen the human reactions. He took out his tricorder to try and distract himself from the thoughts. “They seem to be gorged.”

“Gorged!” Mr Baris exclaimed. Bruce could see the veins bulging from his forehead. “On _my_ grain?! Captain Kent, mark my words, you _will_ be held responsible for this.”

By this stage, the captain had been completely engulfed in a pile of fluffy tribbles.

Baris continued, “There must be thousands of them!”

Clark managed to dig himself out of the fluff pile. “Probably hundreds of thousands.”

“1,771,561. That’s assuming one tribble multiplying with an average litter of ten, producing a new generation every twelve hours, over a period of three days,” Mr Wayne added from where he was crouched beside the pile of tribbles with his tricorder.

“Kent you should have known.” Mr Baris swung his pointed finger wildly in the air. “You are responsible for turning the development project into a total disaster.” His face turned red as he shouted. “I am through being intimidated! I have—”

Bruce stood up suddenly, his tricorder wildly beeping. “Captain. I believe there is something wrong.”

Mr Baris seemed like he was about to pass out. “Of course there’s something wrong! The bastards have eaten all my grain!!”

Bruce continued as if he hadn’t heard Baris’s rant, “Many of the tribbles are dead, and those that are alive won’t be for long. The logical assumption is that something in the grain has killed them.”

Clark went to speak but another tribble fell from the doorway and bonked him on the head. His shoulders dropped in defeat. “Bring me Cyrano Jones.”

* * *

Cyrano Jones clutched two large tribbles to himself as the Starfleet guards manhandled him into a chair in the station manager's office. “I must protest this treatment! I’m innocent, I tell you. Innocent!”

The door whooshed open and Captain Koloth of the Klingon ship marched in along with his second in command. “Captain Kent! I demand an apology addressed to the Klingon High Command.”

“An apology?” Clark questioned. This day really was going from bad to worse.

“I expect you to assume full responsibility for the persecution of Klingon nationals in this quadrant,” Koloth demanded arrogantly. “You’ve harassed my men and treated them like criminals.” His smile was greasy as he said, “Now, if you want to avoid a diplomatic incident, I suggest you hurry with the apology.”

Mr Baris jumped forward. “No! You can’t let them do this! A diplomatic incident means the Organian treaty will be broken and they’ll be able to lay claim to Sherman’s Planet.”

Bruce butted in. “I understand that it would take much more than the simple word of a Klingon commander for the treaty to be invalidated.”

“Mr Wayne, as far as Sherman’s planet is concerned, Captain Kent has already given it to us.”

Clark spun on his heeled boots and walked over to where the guards were keeping Cyrano Jones. “We’ll see about that. But before I take any official action, I’d like to know exactly what went down on this space station. I want to know who put the tribble in the grain, and what was in it that killed them.”

“Well Mr Jones, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Cyrano opened his mouth to speak but the tribbles suddenly started to growl and move erratically in his arms.

“Why are they doing that?”

Mr Jones laughed, “Well they usually like everyone, but they don’t seem to really like your Klingon guests all that much.”

Captain Koloth bristled. “Well, we don’t like them either. May I request they be removed from the room before this continues any further?”

Clark nodded to one of the guards. They gathered up the animals and started to walk out of the room. Just as they got to the door, it opened, and Mr Darvin walked through. The tribbles erupted to life, hissing and practically jumping at Darvin.

“Interesting,” Bruce remarked.

Clark looked to Cyrano Jones. “I thought you said they liked everyone but Klingons?”

Mr Jones stood up in disbelief. “They do! I can’t understand it.”

Clark took one of the tribbles into his arms and stepped away from everyone. It immediately calmed, but, as he moved back towards the Klingons, they began to shriek again. “Yep they definitely don’t like Klingons. He moved over to Bruce and the creature stilled again. “But they like Vulcans.” He smiled at Bruce. “I didn’t know you had it in you Mr Wayne.”

Bruce’s eyebrow twitched in amusement. “Apparently tribbles seem to be very perceptive creatures, sir.”

Next, he walked to Mr Baris. “They seem to like you too. A shame, obviously there is no accounting for taste.”

Mr Baris’s frown deepened.

Clark finished his loop of the room by bringing the tribble back to Mr Darvin. It immediately started hissing again. “They don’t like you. I do wonder why.” He signalled to his first officer, “Mr Wayne.”

Bruce smoothly strided over and raised his tricorder. “Heartbeat is all wrong. His body temperature is too—" He looked up sharply. “Captain, this man is a Klingon.”

“My assistant is a Klingon?!” Mr Baris gasped.

“I wonder what Starfleet command will think of that.” Clark gave him a pointed look. “What about the grain, Mr Wayne?”

“Results indicate it was poisoned with a virus. Once ingested, it turns into an inert material in the bloodstream and kills its host.”

“Mr Davis, nothing to say?”

“No. Nothing I will ever say to _you.”_

Clark threw the rabid tribble at him. The man screamed and ducked away. “Fine! I’ll talk!” Clark picked up another tribble as ammunition. “I poisoned the grain. Okay? I admit to it, just get those things away from me!”

Bruce picked up a tribble as backup. “And what part did the tribbles play in your plan?”

“They weren’t part of it! I swear, they just turned up on their own.”

Bruce looked down at the creature in his arms. This wasn’t right. None of it was right.

“Well, I suppose it’s time I had you arrested for your crimes against the Federation,” said the Captain.

“No.”

“No?” Clark looked at Bruce in puzzlement.

“No. This isn’t real.”

“Bruce what are you talking about?”

Bruce let the fluff ball fall to the floor so he could grip both of Clark’s biceps. “Listen to me. None of this is real. The grain, the space station, the ship. It’s all fake. Someone…or _something_ is playing with us.”

Mr Baris grabbed Clarks shoulder. “You must arrest them at once! I insist.”

“No.” Bruce looked at the man with a steely blue gaze. “We won’t play these games anymore.” He looked up at the ceiling. “You hear me! We’re done playing your games!”

The room shook, as if the space station had just been struck by an asteroid. Clark looked around wildly. “What’s going on?!”

Bruce took his face in both hands. “Clark you have to listen to me. This isn’t real. We need to escape, and to do that you need to stop believing in the illusion and start believing in me.”

Clark looked at him with almost otherworldly blue eyes. It was strange, they had changed his hair colour yet had left the eyes unchanged. “Do you trust me?” Bruce asked.

Clark moved his hands up to cover Bruce’s. “Always and forever.”

* * *

The scene around them seemed to disintegrate all at once in a wave of pink energy. Clark watched as Bruce’s blue officer's uniform faded to black armour and his pointed Vulcan ears elongated into the black bat ears of his cowl. He looked down at himself and saw that the golden uniform he was wearing was wavering like a mirage before it, too, turned into his Superman regalia.

“What?” Bruce was staring at his head. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Your…uh. Your hair.”

Clark scrunched his eyebrows up in confusion and reached up to pull his trademark curl into view. It was blonde. It shimmered pink for a second before turning to its original black hue. “What the heck just happened.” He looked to Bruce, but the man seemed to be at a loss for words.

Bruce looked around. They were in a large metal chamber with strange runes engraved on the shiny silver walls. “Do you remember how we got here?”

“Not a clue.”

“GREETINGS, EARTHLINGS.” A deep voice reverberated across the room. Bruce and Clark spun around to find three tribbles floating in pink magical orbs of light.

“Wait. What is going on?”

“WE ARE THE COUNCIL OF SHERMAN. YOU, THE SELECTED CHAMPIONS OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED THE TEST OF PURITY.” The two men winced as the voice boomed loudly. Tribbles had such small mouths, yet these ones sounded as loud as giants.

Not for the first time today, both superheros looked at each other in confusion. “The what now?” Clark asked.

“YOU HAVE DEMONSTRATED UNDENIABLE TRUST AND LOVE FOR EACH OTHER AND HAVE BEEN DEEMED WORTHY OF LIFE.”

The memories of the week's events came flooding back to the men. A deep space mission gone wrong had resulted in the world’s finest being separated from the rest of the league. They had accidentally trespassed into the hostile territory of the Tribble Empire and been forced to undergo a test of character or be subject to execution.

Bruce shook his head to clear it. “So all of this was a test…and we passed?”

“YES. WITH FLYING COLOURS.” The middle tribble announced.

“WELL DONE.” The third tribble added.

“We can leave then?”

“YES. YOUR SPACE VESSEL HAS BEEN PREPARED FOR YOUR DEPARTURE.”

A door materialised on the wall at the back of the room. They turned to leave but Clark stopped short. “Wait one question. Why Star Trek?”

“THE TEST LOOKS FOR SOMETHING THAT IS FAMILIAR TO BOTH PARTICIPANTS SO THAT THEY MAY BOTH RELATE TO THE EVENTS UNFOLDING.”

“Ah. I see.” Clark still didn’t understand. Him and Bruce spent most of their lives together, surely the test could have used something other than Star Trek. The 60’s version at that.

Clark turned to leave, this time it was Bruce who asked, “May I ask why you inserted tribbles, into the show's story?”

“OH, WE JUST THOUGHT IT WOULD BE FUNNY.” This was followed by a burst of trilling laughter.

Clark brought his hand up to shield his mouth from the tribbles view and whispered, “Let’s get the heck out of here.”

“Yep.”

Superman and Batman ran for the door while they still could.

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a fun fic to write! Especially because I'm obsessed with both superbat and star trek. I kinda had the thought that someone should really do a DC/Star Trek crossover and then I remembered I'm actually a writer and I could be the one to do it lol. 
> 
> For anyone that wants to see the famous scene where the tribbles fall on top of Captian Kirk: [clip.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bprgl_4z6gY)
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Come see me on my Tumblr [aboutbatman!](https://aboutbatman.tumblr.com/)


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